


Take Back Tomorrow

by renegadeartist



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Game of Thrones AU, Kings AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/renegadeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War of Colors has been raging for years. The battles increase in intensity and find their way to places they have no place to be. Five kings and one sellsword decide they've had enough, and plot the end of the war. They are desperate for the fighting to end and there is no limit to what they'll do to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rey

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so if you've never read Game of Thrones or watched it, that's ok. There won't be any of the regular people. Wildlings, yes, the Wall, yes, Winterfell, no. Some of the names have been modified but not by much. Also, if you have any problems with the common events of Game of Thrones there won't be much of it but there will still be a few things, so read with caution.

The rain fell from the sky in torrents, the water running in rivulets stained red through the grooves in the cobblestone. All around him men were fighting. All around him men were dying. He was fighting too, for what sort of king would he be if he left his people to defend a place they could just as easily abandon and run all by themselves.

 

He stuck his sword out and a man fell, two more coming to take the place of their fallen comrade. Bringing his sword in a wide arch he took down three more, only to find three different men standing before him.

 

The pattern persisted. Swing, _thud,_ swing, _thud._ At one point he lost his sword and gained another, from whom or where he wasn’t quite sure. As the end of the day wore on the armor adoring his lithe frame eventually started to drop off until there was nothing on but the clothes he had adorned before the battle. He didn’t mind it much because all the steel, iron, and gems only weighed him down, so having it gone was a gift.

 

His clothes had long since been soaked through. By rainwater or blood he wasn’t sure. He felt his hair plastered to his head, the water spilling into his eyes. Even so he still swung, still brought down one man after another.

 

 _Men with families, lives, and thoughts,_ a part of his mind not soaked through by the madness of battle reminded him. But he kept swinging. It was them or him, and dramatization aside, he wasn’t ready to die just yet.

 

 _Enemies that would kill your people and rape your women,_ the part of his mind that had long ago been fractioned off as the place anger and hatred would fester whispered to him. He kept swinging.

 

Three days prior the banners of red and white were seen over the hills, the white rooster proudly proclaiming who the approaching army belonged to. His own banner, a red rose on a black field, rode out to meet the approaching army under a peace flag.

 

The army of King Burnie of the Asinis Aiza, a large kingdom secluded from most because of its location in a deep gorge, demanded he bend the knee and draw arms against King Matthew. The answer was quick to come, a solid no, leaving no room for argument. The subsequent three days resulted in a siege and all of his able bodied men and even some women being armed with anything and everything.

 

When the king’s army broke through the gate there was not a single man, women, or child to be found. There was silence for a moment, before the whistling of arrows was heard. At that point any bystander would have seen the people hidden on the roofs, pressed down flat as to not be seen, waiting. The soldiers at the shattered gates, however, were not bystanders and they did not see the people on the roofs, only the archers on the walls.

 

The commander, Ser Geoffrey Ramsey, dispatched a few soldiers to take care of the archers and soon the entirety of the Cierń Square was once again silent. The commander hoped to earn a lordship or something similar for this mission, and he would not let it slip through his fingers. “Watch,” he commanded. “We don’t know if they have truly fled.”

 

The host of King Burnie spread out through the castle, searching through the homes and shops. All they found were a few half-finished meals and unmade beds. It seemed as if they had all fled. That was, until one of the soldiers came forwards, roughly pushing a young boy with wheat colored hair towards Geoffrey. He was shaking violently and on his surcoat was sewn the emblem of the Free house, the face of a creeper in a bright green.

 

“What’s your name, lad?” Geoffrey leaned down to ask. Most people didn’t know this about him, but he always found joy in being around children.

 

“Gavyin Free, ser.” He said, though it was very quiet and Geoff had to lean forwards to hear him. “Prince and heir to castle Tywod.”

 

“Well, little princling, I am Ser Geoffrey Ramsey, commander of King Burnie’s army.” The boy looked at him, taking in every little detail. The lad couldn’t be more then 15, almost a man grown. Before any important things could be said, however, Gavyin suddenly let loose a high pitched whistle and before Geoff could stop him he had bolted.

 

There came a loud cry, a battle cry, for want of a better term.

 

_“For the King of Roses!”_

 

The cry was heard and repeated through the whole of castle Rhosyn. The soldiers all stopped and drew their swords, and the people that had been hidden on the roofs came down, swinging sharp steel, dull kitchen knives, and iron pots and pans. That was when the true battle began.

 

The battle lasted longer than anyone on either side expected. The soldiers adorned in armor of all colors and styles swung swords made of steel, while the peasants and commoners of castle Rhosyn swung back with just as much intensity with their limited weapons.

 

He was in the middle of it, as any good king would be. He would fight next to his people, and he could see the faces of the people falling around him. Some were his and some were not. Some he knew, and others, complete strangers. It was a stranger that called him down, stabbed in the chest with blood spilling out of the grievous wound.

 

“K-king Rey…” he wheezed, and Rey knew he wouldn’t last much longer. So, he stopped, and let the few guards that followed him keep the enemies at bay, at least for a while. “Did I serve you well, m’lord?”

 

“Yes,” Rey said. He was kneeling next to the fallen man, the name and rank escaping him. But at this moment it didn’t matter. “You served valiantly, and wherever you end up you will be greatly rewarded.”

 

The dying man only laughed. “You don’t mean that. I was a smuggler. There’s no place for the likes of me except somewhere in the seven hells.”

 

“There may not be, but you’ve more than proven yourself.” The man only smiled, closing his eyes and the rise and fall of his chest stopped.

 

The King of Roses got up and pulled out his sword, the memory of the young man still fresh in his mind. Swing, _thud,_ swing, _thud,_ swing… nothing.

 

He looked around only to find that he was in an alley. There was nothing but stone walls around him and no one to be found.

 

“Rey,” a voice whispered. He stared at the voice and swung his sword to face the source. It was a maiden he had once loved, but never was able to keep.

 

“Lady Courtnay.” He said stiffly.

 

“Oh, stop that. you know as well as anyone that I’m not a real lady. Just a common kitchen wench.” Rey’s sword hung limply at his side and there was not even a ghost of a smile to be seen on his face.

 

“You are anything but common, my lady.” Courtnay smiled at him, and he was loathe to leave her. “I must be going. There is a battle to be won.”

 

To his surprise, she stopped him, whispering in his ear and digging into his arm with her nails. “No. You are not going to win this battle. Please, Rey, for the love you once gave to me, leave now. Flee, live. I don’t want to see you dead or captured.”

 

The king looked at her, and he knew she spoke the truth. But if he left he would be marked as a traitor, he would be abandoning his throne. “What do you propose I do?”

 

“You leave. Become a sellsword. Hide. Do anything, _something._ You’ll get your castle and people back eventually, you must have faith in that. But for now you must go.”

 

Rey sighed. He couldn’t say no to her, and she was never wrong about these things. His past mistakes were proof of that. “Alright then, my lady. I will flee, but you must stay. Keep the spirits of my people high, right?”

 

“Of course, m’lord.”

 

And with that, Rey Ryse, the King of Roses, holder of the castle Rhosyn, ran from the battle. He became Rey the sellsword, and with every passing day he felt himself fall farther and farther away from his people and his livelihood. 


	2. Geoff

He was never one for war councils or all the flashy courts held after battle to determine who would die and who would be raised to a lordship. He hoped he would be given the latter, he had done well at the battle of castle Rhosyn and there was no reason for him not to be raised. He wanted to settle down, marry, and maybe have a few children to carry on his house’s name. He was too old to be a soldier anymore.

                                                                           

Presiding over the large room, filled with people dressed in satin and cloth-of-silver, with jewels and gilded metals splashed here and there, was Lord Joel, King Burnie’s closest advisor and treasurer. He was far from an honest man, and he had an unhealthy, but not uncommon, obsession with gold. He could tell the Lord was inspecting the throne, forged of many types of metal with gilded roses delicately carved from gold and dragonglass and lapis lazuli.

 

He took a moment to recall the Ryse words, “Hide strength in beauty.” The throne at Rhosyn was known to prick the unworthy on its hidden thorns, thought he wasn't sure if it was true or not. Either way if he was to be raised to a lord he would need to think of something memorable like that. He had his banner planned out already, a dark green helmet on a light green field. Maybe his words would be “knights win battles, kings reap rewards.”

 

It was nothing except truth, and he felt it was appropriate. After all, he would soon be a reaper, not a fighter.  He was getting too old to fight, anyways.

 

“So, you claim to have helped our cause,” the words weren’t kind. They were bored, spoken like a man that didn’t care much about actual people and more of the golden statues they would rather spend time with. Geoff had heard this voice many times over, though it was usually a joke or jab, more recently at the newly-knighted Adam Ellis, a strong willed but soft spoken man from some high lord’s castle.

 

“Y-yes,” a nervous boy said. He couldn’t have been older than five-and-ten, but he was in a war council, and the next few minutes could determine whether he would live or die no matter how old he was. With a start, Geoff recognized the boy as the squire that had fled during the battle. Free, he remembered. “Beware the explosions of mistakes,” were the Free words.

 

“Well, seeing as we have no one to verify this, I guess I’ll have to-“

 

“No, he’s telling the truth,” Geoff started at his own words. Why had he done that? The boy was too young. He was probably desperate to live. Geoff would have abandoned any alliance or betrayed any king to survive at that age. Besides, the boy was so small and fragile. He had so much life to live.

 

Joel blinked at the man who used to be his closest friend. They’d grown apart, as many childhood friends often do. But they still talked now and then, and they got along fairly well. The master of coin sighed, and began the lengthy process of rewarding the people who deserved it. Burnie had a habit of preferring rewards over death sentences. Geoff honestly couldn’t blame him. “If that is so, then I believe I owe you an apology,” there was contempt dripping from Joel’s words. He obviously didn’t favor the young squire, but that was to be expected. The Hayman house still stood by the accusation that the Free house had stolen land, and moreover the maiden daughter of Good King Joel, of which the master of coin was named. “And a… reward. To house Free I grant the lands taken from house Zech, barring the lands east of the Severn River.”

 

The boy looked immensely relieved and Geoff had to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Joel nursing a pricked finger from the hidden thorns on the throne. The council was long and tedious after that, so Geoff elected to get lost in his thoughts instead of lost in the sea of words swirling around him. He started worrying about himself and his future, but he decided unless he wanted to go insane like the king that had appeared seemingly from nowhere and claimed the dilapidated old castle that no one even bothered to squabble over he would have to stop thinking about his future and focus on the present. So he settled on listening to a northman's judgement. From what Geoff could gather the northman had reportedly tried to flee on a horse and with a sword of Valerian steel that was a bright blue color, the folds of the metal a darker blue then the rest of it. It belonged to a lesser lord, Mychael Vince, who had named it Mogar. 

 

If Geoff remembered correctly his castle name was Nickmus and his standard a pale yellow bear on a light blue field. The Vince house’s words were “Wield anger as a sword.”

 

“As punishment for desertion, or attempted desertion, you will be beheaded,” Joel stated, bored. The man in question was shaking madly, obviously afraid to die. Geoff took pity on the man, but there was nothing for him to do. “But, luckily for you, the Night’s Watch has been lacking in men these past few years so you will be going up north, stripped of your titles and lands and to be forevermore called a man of the Night’s Watch.”

 

The man looked like he would have kissed Joel, but refrained from moving. The only thing betraying his emotions now was a giant grin on his face. He was led away, and Geoff recalled that he was not a lord at all, but a knight that had only recently been knighted and horsed, still a greenboy, not fit for the battlefield.

 

But he would find his courage at the frozen tower that was the Wall and possibly earn a name for himself.

 

Then came his name, expected but still enough to startle him out of his contemplations. Joel had moved into a more comfortable position, giving the impression that he didn’t care one way or another what happened to the people less fortunate than he. Geoff stepped forward, his scant armor suddenly feeling heavy and out of place in its dark green hue. He absentmindedly scratched at old scars hidden under the intricate ink detailing the skin on his arms and hiding the injuries so well that people rarely knew about them.

 

“You have served faithfully under the Blue King for years now,” Joel began. There was a tone in his voice suggesting that he didn’t much care for the words coming from his mouth. He was reading from a script, his mind far away back at Asinis Aiza and the numerous brothels he would undoubtedly visit once he returned. “And, as a reward, you are to be raised to a lord. You have been granted the stronghold Valhalla and all its lands.”

 

He knew it was coming, and he knew he should be elated. But now that the moment had come he only felt empty. The days on the battlefield were over for him. The success and the satisfaction of doing something and not sitting behind stone walls doing nothing but say where someone should go so they would either win or die.

 

But the weight in his chest was chased away with the recollection of a stronghold’s purpose. It was to provide protection, to shelter everyone, not just the king behind its strong stone walls. Valhalla was no different, and it had a long history of being one of the most reliable, its stones said to be melted together by dragonflame and smooth but for a few slits that archers could shoot out of. So he stood straighter, forgot the weight of his armor and accepted the lordship.

 

“Thank you, my lord. I humbly accept your offer. I ask leave to sort my lands and sew my banner.” With that he left, not caring about the rest of the prisoners or noblemen. He had a stronghold to run and he was going to do it right.


	3. Kerry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by an rp I did with the wonderful pretty-fly-for-a-bill-nye over on tumblr.

It felt like no time at all had passed since he left Castle Rhyosyn. The trek up North had been difficult, but at least they hadn’t left from King Matthew’s castle in the South. At least he’d kept his life, though he wasn’t quite sure how much longer it would last in this freezing wasteland.

 

There was a banging at his cell door, and he saw another man clad in black with an annoyed look on his face. “Hey, didn’t you hear what I said?” he snapped, and Kerry could tell he was in a _very_ bad mood. He only shook his head mutely, though, and the man sighed and shook his head. Kerry vaguely remembered that his name was Miles. “I said it’s time to break our fast. Get up or you’ll be late, and Grey doesn’t react well to tardiness.”

 

Kerry nodded rapidly and scrambled out of bed. Miles left the room to let the newcomer don blacks and discard the other clothes he'd been previously wearing. Kerry sighed as he pulled on the wool tunic, it wasn't that warm but it was better than the thin fabrics he had been wearing. When he stepped out into the chilled hallway, Miles was already starting to leave.

 

"Um, my lord-"

 

"There are no lords here, lad. Best get used to that."

 

"Right, uh, what way is the common room?" Miles sighed, turned, grabbed Kerry by the arm, and dragged him down the winding hall way.

 

"Chilly here, eh? Surprised I haven't frozen my cock off yet."

 

"Chilly? Just wait until winter, you'll freeze off more than your cock." Kerry stayed silent after that, think that it was probably best.

 

Soon they made their way to the common room and many eyes turned and stared at Kerry, a few people began to joke and laugh to each other. Kerry tried not to make eye contact.

 

"Oi! Moon Stealer! Already fuckin' a newcomer are you?" one of them called out. Miles quickly let go of Kerry's arm, shoving him so hard he almost fell into a table. This caused the occupants of said table to laugh. Kerry wasn't sure if his face suddenly became warm because of the cold or from embarrassment. Quickly, he took his seat at a far off table.

 

"High born," a voice called to him. Kerry looked up. He saw two men, Miles coming up from behind them making a third. He remembered that the one with the kind voice was Jon and the one that lacked any hair on his head was Shannon.

 

"You're sitting at our table." The Night’s Watchman said, not unkindly.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" Shannon shrugged and him and his friends filled up the other seats, Kerry took this as a meaning he could stay.

 

"How did you know I was high born?" Kerry asked. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore. He was going to be a full-fledged member of the Watch soon.

 

"You have that kind of look about you." Jon shrugged and started to eat.

 

"Well I kind of am anyway, I was a knight." He muttered, not willing to stay on the subject of his past nobility for much longer.

 

"For how long?" asked Miles curiously.

 

Kerry shifted uncomfortably in the bench. "...A week." the men burst into laughter.

 

"What'd you do lad? Rape some bitch, steal something, murder someone?" Another man asked, plopping down on the bench. Kerry didn’t know this one’s name, nor the names of all the other men crowding around to hear his story.

 

"I fought at the battle of Rhyosyn. I was banished soon after. I'm lucky to have gotten away with my life, though I doubt that luck will continue" he admitted, they gaped at him.

 

"The battle of Rhyosyn? What did you do?" Miles demanded, the food forgotten by him but not by anyone else. Shannon was quick to snatch his piece of bread while he was distracted.

 

“I… well I um…” he gulped uncertainly. Jon only offered a smile and a nod, urging him to go on. “I fought on the losing side…” it wasn’t the truth but it was better than telling them the real reason he had been sent to the frigid North.

 

“We don’t get much news here besides what the Lord Commander tells us and he’s not very open about it, says it’ll only distract us from our duties,” one of the Watchmen called out. “You have to tell us who lost.”

 

“Um, well, King Rey lost the battle-“Kerry began, but was cut off by noises of disbelief.

 

“The Rose King? No way!” Miles shouted, looking like a child experiencing his first spring.

 

Kerry solemnly nodded. "I saw him only once during the battle, then people reported he had left. The last I had heard of him was that he threw away his crown and became a sellsword."

 

"Why the hell did he leave?" Miles asked and snatched his bread back, thumping Shannon hard on his shaved head.

 

"I have no clue, honest. People say that he was bribed into it, or that he got cold feet and deserted, or that he joined with the opposing side."

 

The men at the tables shook their heads in disgust.

 

"A rose? Should'a been a pansy." they mumbled into their porridge.

 

"So, high born, did you kill anyone? Or are you just another greenboy who pissed himself and hid when the fighting started."

 

"I don't know… the battle was a mess really, I can barely remember it to be honest."

 

“Well can’t be helped,” Miles commented, getting up to shoo the crowd away. “Get on now, all of you! Story time’s over!”

 

There were a few grumbles and rude gestures but eventually the men all left, leaving only the three people Kerry could name. Miles sat back down and shoved a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. Kerry wasn’t willing to sit in silence so he started the conversation anew. “So, what are you here for?”

 

Miles froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “I was a bandit. Tried to steal a highborn’s purse. They don’t let things go easily. That’s why people around here call me Moon Stealer, though if you start calling me that I’ll personally throw you off the Wall.”

 

Kerry nodded mutely, and the focus of the conversation shifted to Shannon. Shannon looked up from his porridge and met Kerry's gaze. "Let me guess, you're going to ask me what I'm in here for?" he continued talking without an answer. "I guess you could call me a spy, a terrible one at that, but still a spy. I got my hands on some information, the King I worked for found out I was a rat and it was either me losing my hands or going to the Wall. You can obviously see what choice I made, though I'm not sure if it was the smartest one."

 

"That reminds me, during the battle there was a rat who started the whole thing. Posed as a stupid child and as we were questioning him he let the Rhyosyn army attack us. I hope the bastard had his throat slit and is now burning in the seven hells." Kerry muttered darkly.

 

Miles took an unnecessarily loud gulp of water and said, “Wow, bitter much. Also weren’t you part of the Rose King’s army?”

 

Kerry blanched and stuttered, “I-I mean yeah, of course.”  Kerry could tell they noticed his slip up and had probably figured out where his loyalties lay but they didn’t look like they particularly cared that he had lied to him. Lying seemed to be less of a critical offence at the Wall.

 

“Alright then, I guess it’s Jon’s turn to spill the beans.” Shannon said in an attempt to lighten the mood. It worked, and Miles looked at him as if he’s just grown another head.

 

“’Spill the beans?’”

 

“It’s a saying I heard once,” Shannon said defensively. “Anyways, tell him about you Jon.”

 

“Well,” Jon began slowly, putting his spoon down. “Let’s just say it’s not a good idea to break into a treasury drunk.”

 

Kerry decided that is was best to not talk anymore lest he mess up again, the rest of the group didn't seem to mind. They chattered amongst themselves and Kerry stared down at the table, wishing that he had gotten something to eat. He was so lost in his own thoughts he almost didn't notice the voice talking to him.

 

"High born, high born, did you fall asleep? It's time for training in the yard. Let's see if this one-week knight even knows how to handle a sword." Miles said and Kerry followed him to the training yard.

 

"Where did the other guys go?" Kerry asked.

 

"They're not newbies like us, been longer here, probably gone off to patrol the Wall or something. Have you been there yet?" Kerry shook his head. "Well, watch your step while up there. 'Tis a long way down." just as he spoke Miles recoiled from a sharp knock in the back of the head with the edge of a blunted sword. He fell to his knees with a loud swear and held the back of his head.

 

"Enough socializing Moon Stealer, and on your feet for Gods' sake you look like a fucking idiot." a gruff voice said and Miles grumbled back to his feet. His attacker threw the sword to Kerry. "Now go change into your armor, boys. You especially Kerry, heard you was a knight, I want to see if you were a decent one."

\--

Kerry followed a ranting Miles back into the armory and began to fasten the mismatched armor onto him, a task that proved easier for him than others. At last, Kerry strode to the dirt floored area that served as a training area.

 

"Miles, you've been at this for a while. I want you to go against Kerry, or would he prefer _Ser_ Kerry instead?"

 

The pair faced each other, blunted sword in hand. Kerry was no amazing knight but he learned most he could and tried to read Miles' movements. With his personality, he could easily tell that Miles would make the first move. Soon enough, the sword crashed down. Kerry jumped backwards and it narrowly missed from scraping against his rusted breastplate. Kerry sent a blow of his own, his sword tip kissing Miles' belly. The man seemed somewhat taken aback from it and retorted with another swinging blow, aiming for Kerry's side. _He aims most for strength, power, and damage. He's giving his all to strike down the other rather than protecting his own body_. Kerry noted and thrust his own sword to block the other's. A sharp clanging noise filled the cold air as their blades hit over and over again as the fighters gained confidence. Miles sent strong, powerful blows as Kerry dodged them with somewhat ease and sending short jabs and slices of his own. They continued at this, their breath fogging up the air. Kerry knew that Miles had to grow weary at some point but it was taking an eternity. As he stepped back to narrowly miss a 'fatal' blow, his feet tangled beneath him and he tripped on them. He fell back onto his arse in a _poof_ of dirt and looked up at Miles who stood above him, his blade poised to chop his head in two.

 

"I yield!" Kerry cried and set his sword to the side. An uproar of laughter ensued as Miles helped the former knight back to his feet.

 

"How much did you pay to become a knight?" Someone called to him.

 

"More gold dragons than your whore mother ever earned." Miles spat back in defense of his somewhat friend.

 

The person who Kerry had to guess was the trainer sighed and motioned them away. "Take him to the Maester." was all he said and only then did Kerry notice a sharp pain in his ankle.

 

As Kerry limped away, leaning awkwardly on Miles, he heard calls of 'dragonface' behind him. "Oh look, you have a nickname already. I think they like you."                                           


	4. Cris

The fire flickered in the dark. It was a beacon of light in an empty wasteland. The shadows danced on the tree trunks around them, and there was silence for a short time. But it was broken by the sound of branches breaking and bushes rustling.

 

“By the gods Brandon, I never would have thought a so-called hunter could make that much noise.” A man plucking at a woodharp commented dryly.

 

“S-shut up,” the man that had just emerged from the woods stuttered. He was carrying some wood he’d gathered and quickly went to throw them into the dwindling fire. “If we hadn’t have left that watchtower we wouldn’t be camping out in the dark woods…”

 

“What, scared of some wild dogs?” quipped Cris, who was kneeling by the fire, coaxing it back into a comfortable blaze. “Besides, it’s not like we had a choice now did we? Ryan said we had to leave, so we did.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Brandon plopped down on the ground next to Cris and sighed heavily. “I do wish we’d accepted that Lady’s offer for dinner.”

 

“Once again, Ryan said we had to leave so we did.” Cris muttered, glancing over at the sleeping form of their liegelord. Well he would have been, had he a claim to a throne. It took time for any of them to remember why they were with him in the first place. If asked he probably would have told the person that he simply had nowhere else to go. “Besides, you know as well as I do that she wasn’t an actual Lady.”

 

“She was pretty, though.” Brandon muttered, and they fell into silence. The sound of the woodharp and soft singing the only sounds echoing through the dark forest.

 

“You’d think a lame bitch was pretty.”

 

“Would not.”

 

“Would so.”

 

It went back and forth like that for a while before the two hunters noticed the lack of a certain woodharp and light snoring. Looking up they noticed Ryan sitting near the embers, staring at them intently like they held the secrets of the world. Cris and Brandon didn’t dare breath a word, mainly because whenever something like this happened Ryan would always say something, and they didn’t want to miss anything he said.

 

“We’re going North,” was all he said.

~~

“I hate nature,” Brandon muttered, whacking another branch out of the way. “How much longer do we have to keep walking?”

 

“Not too long now. We’re almost there,” Ryan replied distractedly. It had been too long, but it wasn’t like their destination would get up and walk away from them.

 

Brandon and Chris continued grumbling as they made their dreary quest, their tempers rising with every footfall.

 

"We've been walking for ages and we've still no idea of where we're going, is this another one of your mad dillusions?" Brandon angrily asked, Chris shot him a dirty look.

 

"What he means is, where are we going, my lord?" Chris hastily added, not wanting to upset their companion.

 

"I told you, you'll see when we get there, which will be soon."

 

"You said it'd be soon miles ago, my legs are like to fall off." Brandon complained.

 

"Keep talking like that and I'll be the one to cut those damned legs off, now quiet. Both of you." the tone in Ryan's voice shut them up quickly

\--

The rest of the walk was complete silence except for their footfalls and the occasional sigh. The thicket of trees around them seemed to be growing ever bigger and thicker as time went by and you could tell even Ryan was beginning to lose some faith until he stopped suddenly in his tracks.

 

"There." Ryan said in a soft whisper, pointing a finger to an almost hidden castle amongst the trees and bushes.

 

The castle itself had most likely seen better days, but even still it held a strong look about it. It was almost intimidating. The only inhabitants inside the rundown castle would have to be the trees and vegetation that now claimed it as part of the forest. A film of moss and vines completely covered it which made it extremely hard to spot amongst the other greenery.

 

"That’s what we journeyed for? An old rundown castle? What the hell do you plan on doing with it, making yourself king of the forest?" Chris asked, staring at the massive castle.

 

“I plan on making myself a king, yes,” Ryan snapped back, marching up to the broken gate and the raised portcullis. “But not of the forest.”

 

“Well then what do you plan on making yourself king of? There’s nothing here, no people, hardly any animals, and there’s barely any land for farming.” Brandon pointed out, “besides, is this even legal?”

 

“Well,” Cris pointed out, “no one ever said you couldn’t.”

 

“Gods, just shut up, both of you,” the man with the woodharp muttered, following from a distance as per usual.

 

“Alright you three,” Ryan said, his voice projecting through the ruined courtyard and through the abandoned rooms and cracked stones. “We need to get this castle in working order if we plan on living here.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on living here,” Brandon muttered, to which Cris responded by elbowing him hard in the stomach.

 

The whole castle was deserted. The walls were crumbling in some places, and others there was glass from smashed windows littering the floor and the marks of raiders plain on the wrecked oaken doors and smashed rainbows of the sept’s windows and the seven statues scoured for anything of value, the Warrior’s realistic armor had been wrenched from the frame, leaving carved stone cracked and ruined behind, while the Stranger was nowhere to be seen, and Cris recalled that it was observed in some septs to have the stranger carved from dragonglass.

 

There was something there that was more interesting than the ransacked sept, however. There was a muttering, and Cris took it to mean someone was living in the dilapidated old castle. And they were strong in their faith to the Seven.

 

“The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves all her little children.” The voice said, and Cris recognized the often sung song of the Seven. He also heard the voice of a woman, which puzzled him even further. What was a woman doing in a ransacked castle? Wasn’t there a husband or duty somewhere that she had to carry out?

 

“The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e’re we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children.” Creeping forward, he sees a woman with long dark hair kneeling over a book that looked half charred, but even he could recognize a septon’s book if he saw one.

 

“The Smith labors day and night, to put the world of men to right. With hammer, plow and fire bright, he builds for little children.”

 

“You skipped one,” he called, and the woman whirled around, shoving the large book away and pulling out a small dagger that looked too dull to open a letter. She looked frightened, and Cris had to wonder what events had driven her to the castle. But he heard Brandon’s heavy footfalls and panting breaths coming up from behind him to stare at the frightened woman.

 

“Who are you?” She demanded, trying to sound in control of the situation. Cris quickly looked her over, and noticed that she was wearing boiled leather and chainmail, the garb of a wildling.

 

“Are you from north of the Wall?” the woman was surprised, and she tried to hide it, but it was painfully obvious that she wasn’t used to human interaction and not ready for the kind of stress the situation was putting on her.

 

“I asked who you were first!” She shrieked, shaking all over.

 

“I’m Cris, the bastard behind me is Brandon,” he said as calmly as possible. Behind him, Brandon let out a whine.

 

“I’m not a bastard and you know it,” he insisted, an argument Cris was more then used to.

 

“And I’m a lord. Don’t worry, we’re not here to hurt you, kill you, or capture you, nothing like that. We’re only here because of Ryan.”

 

That at least made her calm down a bit. “I’m Arryn. Daughter of Krauklis. I live- er, lived, in Reliquiae. You probably know about it as the, um, ‘castle’ of the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall.”

 

“Alright. All I heard was Queen-Beyond-the-Wall. Oh, and that your name is Arryn.”

 

The wildling looked a bit offended, but she refrained from saying anything. “Want to join our cause?” Brandon piped up from behind Cris.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well, it’s um… I don’t actually know,” Brandon trailed off, the wildling’s expression turning to one of amusement before she shrugged.

 

“Sure.”


	5. Lindsay

“ _I once knew a maid with fire in her hair and a spark in her soul,”_ sang the wildling, the fire burning low and the sun rising slowly over the giant weirwoods. His half asleep companions were lounging about. This was their day off, as Lindsay had proclaimed, and so they were all still buried under furs in their small shelter.

 

“Let me guess,” Lindsay muttered from under the furs, “it’s about me.”

 

“Correct, m’lady,” Kdin proclaimed, shoving the half broken woodharp to the next in line.

 

“Shut up bear,” J.J. muttered, as it seemed no one except Kdin was willing to raise their voice. He accepted the harp and began his ballad, “ _You sing worse than my fox, though maybe that would be too kind,”_ rang out across the clearing and the harp was wrenched from J.J.’s hands and shoved to Caleb’s.

 

“That’s enough outta you-!”

 

“Quiet,” Lindsay hissed, causing whatever argument or fistfight that might have started to come to an abrupt halt. “I hear something.”

 

“Probably a direwolf or something of the like,” muttered J.J.

 

“I said _quiet.”_ That was the end of all arguments. They all listened for what Lindsay was so riled up about, and soon heard it again. It was footsteps, crunching through the thick snow that blanketed the floor of the haunted forest. J.J.’s fox crept silently through the trees, leaving the four of them to wait and see who-or what- it was.

 

But the warg relaxed noticeably and resumed his usual banter. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jon.”

 

“That crow?” Caleb was plucking at the worn woodharp, suddenly disinterested.

 

The silver fox came ambling back into the clearing in the center of the weirwoods and soon thereafter came the crow. He looked just as Lindsay remembered him, but he seemed more at ease, probably because of his frequent trips out to the haunted forest to visit his not-quite-friends. After all, a crow can only be considered a friend of a wildling if they were ready to desert and lose their head.

 

He stood there for a second, looking unsure. “Well go on then,” Lindsay urged, “say what you’ve come to say and be done with it.”

 

“Ah… yes, well about that…”

 

“Come on, man. It can’t be that hard to talk. I understand crows usually only know a few words but this is ridiculous,” Kdin said in his… unique way of boosting morale.

 

“Yes, well, there are some other Watchmen coming. We have a few greenboys that want to say their vows in front of a heart tree.”

 

“Now was that really so hard?” They were already packing up their furs and snuffing out their fire but Lindsay still found the time to egg Jon on. “What did you tell them you were doing, anyway?”

 

“I said I was looking for any wildlings that might attack the recruits.” That earned a chorus of laughter from the already retreating wildlings.

 

“Well you weren’t lying.” And with that passing remark from the thus-silent Caleb, they left the clearing, staying just out of sight so the Night’s Watchmen wouldn’t try to stab them through with their swords.

 

It didn’t take long for the four crows to come into the clearing. One was Jon, who was looking about, making sure they had actually left and not pulled a stunt like the last time. And, according to what Jon had told them, they were the worst kept secret in the whole of the Watch, which was probably why he was always part of any expedition outside the wall and why the other crow was watching him as well, making sure he had done his job of getting his wildling friends out of the way of the recruits.

 

Besides Jon and the other crow- who Lindsay was fairly certain was Shannon, who, according to Jon, was one of the only actual knights in the Watch- was two nervous looking men. They had obviously never been north of the Wall and it showed. They jumped at every little noise, and Kdin even threw a rock at one of the weirwoods causing the shorter one with the light hair to utter a stifled shriek. 

 

“Calm down, Dragonface. It was only a squirrel.” Shannon shot Jon a look, clearly lying through his teeth. Jon only shrugged sheepishly, as if to say he didn’t control the wildlings any more than Shannon controlled what was served in the great hall every day.

 

The other member was a scrawny, tall lad that looked just as uncomfortable as the so-called Dragonface. The only difference was he hid it better. They knelt before the weirwoods and began to say the words of the Watch’s oath.

 

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins.” The words were strangely small in the vast emptiness of the haunted forest. “It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.” There was no one but the four wildlings hiding in the brush at the edge of the clearing living in the forest. But even so, they heard footsteps. They were slow, deliberate. They did not belong to any man, and they all knew it. There was only one type of monster that sounded like that. “I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

 

The words ended, and silence resumed. But it wasn’t long before the four crows heard the steps too. The knight turned to Jon and asked in hushed tones, “Those aren’t your _friends,_ are they?”

 

He only mutely shook his head and loosened his sword. He knew about the Others too, and he knew they were supposedly the stuff of legend, but it never hurt to be cautious.

 

There were shadows moving through the trees. They were silent, stumbling things that just kept moving towards their targets: the crows.

 

They were ignoring the wildlings, at least for now. But Lindsay knew she couldn't stay hidden when the wights came.

 

"We have to get them out of there."

 

"What?" Caleb hissed at her. The other two were staring at her in disbelief. "They're our enemies! Crows!"

 

"And one of those crows is our friend." Her words weren't swaying them. She could see that. But she was running out of time, she had to act. "They're people. What does it matter if they're kneelers or crows? We know Jon. He knows us. Whether you help them or not, I am."

 

With that she burst from the underbrush, startling the newly initiated crows and the knight. Jon looked at her like she had lost all common sense.

 

"Crows, you have to leave."

 

"Why?" Jon was afraid. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He may have been a man of the Night's Watch, but he was still a boy who pissed himself by the fireside listening to his wet nurse spin her yarn. "What's coming?"

 

"Wights. Walking dead. You have to leave now." But her warnings were too little too late. The wights were closing in, some already in the clearing. " _Go!_ "

 

"But what about you?" asked Dragonface. He had much to learn of the Watch's hatred towards wildlings.

 

"We'll- _I'll_ hold them off for as long as I can. But you keep that gate open for me, you hear me Jon?"

 

He nodded and dragged the other crows along. They managed to break through the line of wights and run towards the towering structure that was the Wall. The wights turned and followed.

 

"That's not right." Lindsay was glad to see the rest of her companions step out from the edge of the clearing. Even more so when she noticed that J.J. was holding a torch, the flames dancing on the pale faces of the dead.

 

“Why are they following the crows? Are we not good enough for them?” Kdin remarked, grinning. Trust them to bring humor into a serious situation.

 

“So you’re helping our enemies now?” Caleb ended the trio of inquiries. They were all there, a runaway prince, a wildling through and through, a warg, and a woman who didn't quite know where her loyalties lay.

 

"Yes," Lindsay took a defensive stance, ready for the battle to come. "Are you going to help now or what?"

 

They only shrugged, J.J. voicing their collective thoughts. “What’ve we got to lose?”


	6. Mycheal

The chamber that Rey used for his quarters was empty besides a guttering candle and a stone-hard bed. It had been so long since the fall of his castle. The night was dark and his head was filled with events from long past. The battle, his choices. There came a knock on his door and upon saying a gruff "enter" the intruder was revealed to be King Mychael Vince, a bad tempered man that tended to speak his mind. "What could you possibly want at this time, _your grace_?"

 

Mychael swiftly stepped into the room, the door shut behind him with only the slightest creak. He was fully dressed in battle garb save for most of the armor. "Be happy you're not a commoner, Ser Rey. You know what I do to people who use that kind of tone with me." Without another word he began to lay out different maps onto the sheets as if he was about to hold council on the occupied bed. "The opposing army had decided to do a sneak attack at night as if to catch us by surprise, those fucking fools. Geoff says you're good at battle strategies, can you make any sense of our situation?" Upon further inspection the map was that of their kingdom and surrounding areas with multiple symbols and feverish writings marking different areas. "We captured one of their soldiers and they stupidly had this on them." He gave a laugh and ran a hand through his curled hair. "It makes you wonder if they're even trying anymore."

 

Leaning over the maps and inspecting them Rey thought for a moment. There was something not quite right about the map. For one, the configurations didn't make sense. Any commander with a head on his shoulder would know that the configuration was near impossible, not to mention risky on both parts. It would cause both armies to be spread out too thin. "It's a fake. They sent the rat in so that we'd get the map and send our army to the places they're not going to be. Or, at the very least, pretend to be."

 

Mychael swore loudly and gathered the maps into his arms, not caring if they ripped in the process. "So we have no clue when they'll strike next... perfect. I'll have to tell Geoff about this..." He threw open the door and was getting ready to leave until he turned back to look at Rey. "You'll probably want to at least put on your sword for this." And with that he left.

 

"Mychael." Rey said, causing the man to stop in his tracks. "Maybe we should think about this for a minute. If they were able to get a rat through our walls, what's to say they don't have even more? For all we know there's one listening to us right now."

 

Mychael considered this for a moment. "Telling Geoff that these plans are a fake is of the most importance at the moment. When I'm done with that I guess I'll have to go on a rat hunt, now won't I? Now please, Ser Rey, your sword." He began to open the door only to be faced by a large nosed, scraggily looking youth holding a sword that was probably made for someone much older (and stronger) than him. His face was painted with an expression of greater shock than the person he faced. With a shrill cry he chopped at Mychael with the sword, it lamely falling onto the ground as the King moved out of the way. In one fluid motion, Mychael punched the lad in the face with a chainmail covered fist, that enough caused him to fall onto the floor with another pitiful wail, all Mychael had to do was keep a firm boot on the writhing almost assassin to keep him put. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

 

"I'msorryididn'tmeantooiwasforcedpleaseihavefamilywhokindoflivesherenotreallybutplESEDON'TKILLME I'M SORRY!" Mychael stared down at him, not sure whether to laugh or feel pity, he slowly loosened his foothold.

 

"What's your name?"

 

 "Gavyin Free." He replied, breathless.

 

"Well, Gavyin, are you a rat?" The lad looked at him, shaking violently. He knew one wrong word would lead him to the next world over and failing to answer would land him the same fate.

 

"A rat that was forced to do what he did." He stuttered out, nervous and unsure of himself.

 

“But a rat nonetheless." Rey said, looking at him disappointedly. "Well, Mychael, what should we do with him?"

 

Mychael stared at Gavyn with hard eyes. The person in their capture was almost in tears and Mychael could help but feel immense pity for him, and even though it was tempting, he couldn't bring himself to draw his sword on him. The King sighed and gruffly helped Gavyin to his feet. "He's from the enemy right? That means he might have some information on them. I'll take care of him. You go warn Geoff about the possible attack."

 

"Alright. Don't fuck him while I'm gone." With that, Rey swept out of the room to find his way to Geoff's quarters.

 

Mychael's face strangely heated up at that comment. "You might want to change out of those clothes," He called as Rey walked away. "You look like a fucking idiot!" He added but the insult lacked its intended intensity.

 

He could have sworn he heard Rey yell back “I am a fucking idiot though, I’m not even married yet, of course I have no experience.” With a huff he grabbed Gavyn by his arm and led him down the stone hallways to his office. Once there, he shoved the rat into a seat and began to pace. Lack of sleep was starting to get to him. "Your name's Free, correct?"

 

 "Yes, M'Lord, Gavyn Free."

 

"Any titles, Gavyn? Also it's 'Your Grace'."

 

"Ah, yes, Your Grace. I'm the prince and heir to Tywod. Well. Was any way… They stormed the castle and locked up my mum and dad, they forced me into this whole business since I'm not old enough to fight yet, and I’m not old enough to take the throne. Please, you have to believe me. I was forced to." Mychael considered his story to be true enough but was still skeptical.

 

“Why did they storm your castle? As far as I know there’s barely anything of worth at or around Tywod.”

 

“I guess they suspected us of treason,” he fiddled with the symbol on his jerkin, strangely enough a rooster, not a creeper. “I helped the Rose King back at the battle of Rhosyn. I guess they still thought I was loyal to him.”

 

Mychael chanced a glance to the doorway, even though he knew there was no way that Rey was still there. “So they sent you to spy on us. Why?”

 

“They think the lesser lords- you and the bloke that left and Geoff and all the rest- are planning an uprising. I can’t imagine why, all of the lords around here are all banner men or neutral.” At the look Mychael had on his face Gavyn let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, you’re not planning an uprising, right?”

 

He only snorted, “What would it matter to you? Tywod has been pledged to someone since the conquerors came and settled Gallus. The Free house isn’t even considered a lesser house. Besides, you’re not even a man grown, why would they send _you_ of all people?”

 

“To prove my loyalty I suppose. I’m too young to go to battle anyways.”

 

"Not old enough to fight in battle but old enough to secretly stick a blade in someone?" Something flashed across Gavyn's face for a moment that somewhat unsettled the King.

 

"I never said killing was in my job description, Your Grace. I did what I had to." He looked at him sadly, but with a slight upturn of his lips. “Besides, all you have to do is stick them with the pointy end, right?”


End file.
